The Metronome  (BDSM, Mf)
The Metronome


I had a dream last night.  My thoughts lingered into morning as I rustled
around in bed.  I was thinking about the nook in your bedroom, metronomes and
other things.  I had this image of you in a compromising position.

As I requested, you had installed several eyebolts strategically in the
nook...one in the ceiling and three on the back wall at its floor (one in the
middle and two in each corner.)

I'd been thinking that giving you the vibrator was a mistake...that
unmonitored you'd been unable to control your desires...that you needed a
lesson in patience and timing.  That's when the idea struck me...the
metronome.  You, as a fellow musician, would certainly understand the
simplicity and importance of the metronome.

I tied you securely, tighter than I'd ever risked in the past.  Placing you on
your knees in the rectangular nook, adorned in familiar leather cuffs around
your neck, wrists and ankles, I pulled your ankles apart and tied them to the
corner eyebolts.  Then, I tied your wrist cuffs together and pulled them back
to the center eyebolt on the floor.  I did the same with a rope extending from
the back of your collar.  I suppose if I had been in a generous mood, I would
have let you continue to rest your buttocks on your heels and the rest of your
weight on your hands.  You looked glorious as your chest heaved in concert
with your erratic breathing, but something was wrong.  You looked much too
comfortable to begin your lesson.

I reached for the nipple clamps.  The tiny white wire clothespins would do the
trick.  With a flick of my tongue on your nipples, I started a chain
reaction...the tightening...the color change from mild to deep pink...the
hardening of your tips as I sucked them into my mouth...the moaning from your
lips that pointed straight toward the ceiling.  Then pleasure turned to pain
as the clamps grabbed your nipples.  I took the last rope and strung it
through the open-ended clothespins.  The ceiling bolt was perfect.  I stood
above you in the nook and pulled the loose ends of rope to the ceiling.  I
wasn't happy until I saw your body rise to ease the tension.  Then, I pulled a
little bit more.  Your behind off your heels...your hands
dangling...stretching for the ground...your head pulled backwards...your
nipples extended...you were a sight to behold.

I ran my hands over your body, its shape delicate and sturdy.  I could see
your discomfort, but you were thinking of the anxious throbbing between your
legs.  It was time for your lesson.  Time for you to learn the agony and
ultimate pleasures that come from relinquishing control.  Time to learn once
more what it means to be under my hand...not pleasuring yourself at your whim
with the buzzing vibrator.  It was time for the metronome.

A simple devise...until now it's sole purpose was to keep steady musical time,
tick...tock... tick...tock…like a miniature grandfather clock.  The pendulum
swung freely from its sturdy base...back and forth...back and forth...with me
controlling the tempo.  With the help of a textbook as a base, I positioned
the free-swinging arm so that each swing tapped your clitoris...back and
forth...back and forth...tick...tock...tick...tock.

Initially, you lunged toward it, trying to time your movements to increase the
strength of each blow.  Was it worth the pain you inflicted on your nipples?
Each time you lunged, the ceiling rope tugged sharply.  The first time caught
you by surprise.  Your gasp told me so, but you continued for a while.
Perhaps you thought you could retain some control of your pleasure.  Then in
reconsideration you remained still, resting your throbbing nipples, you
uncomfortably tied and bowed.  The metronome beat on, tapping your clit one
beat after another.

I sat in the nook next to you...watching.  After a while, you became oblivious
to my presence.  The room was warm.  You worked up a sweat.  Your skin
shined...your head thrown back in abandon...your hands clenching and
unclenching...your pussy dripping uncontrollably.  The metronome beat on.  It
was callous to your predicament.  It had no batteries to wear down, just a
steady keeper of time.

I didn't know how long you could stand it.  You'd already tried begging,
insisting you needed my cock inside you.  I reminded you that when you had
your vibrator humming you seemed to need no one.  Why should I believe you
now?  Besides, it had only been 30 minutes.  Surely you could last a few hours
or more.  Time will tell.

The metronome brought you to the edge once more.